


Outward Bound

by takethisnight_wrapitaroundme



Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: AU where Carlos is still a cop because what else could he be, AU where TK isn't a firefighter, Alternate Universe - Military, Anal Sex, Deployment, Established Relationship, Fake Marriage, Fights, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Interracial Relationship, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Sexual Content, Shower Sex, but real to them and to me okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:33:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24155917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takethisnight_wrapitaroundme/pseuds/takethisnight_wrapitaroundme
Summary: When their year came up, they watched the draft on TV together, braced for the numbers they hoped never to hear. The #Tarlos soldier AU, as promised.
Relationships: Carlos Reyes/TK Strand
Comments: 13
Kudos: 65





	Outward Bound

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my favorite duo for supplying the inspiration for this fic: “High Hopes” by the Milk Carton Kids.

_The letter said it all, we're shipping out  
_ _I know they got it wrong without a doubt  
_ _The war ain't over there it's here with me  
_ _The battle of the bloody century_

* * *

They kept a bottle of whiskey on the table between them as they watched, but neither partook. It had been a gift from TK's father; he'd left it behind with the promise that they'd drink from it together, once his last tour was over.

He died three months in, somewhere in eastern Mongolia. They were never sure exactly where, or how.  Five years later, and they still didn’t have a body to show for it. TK doubted they ever would. Why should the military put any effort into bringing battered corpses home when they’re having trouble getting enough boots on the ground in the first place?  The dead only bring down morale.

And thirty years into this unending war, morale is hard to come by. So hard to come by, in fact, that they are no longer manufacturing it. They're enforcing it.

There were protests at first. Talking heads on every news channel. Challenges in court. The draft hadn't been instituted since the '70s, decades before those who would have to serve had even been born. But precedent, even infamous precedent, always helps grease the wheels. It had been done before, and so it could be done again.

They took the twenty-year-olds first. Then twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five. They lasted a while. A good long while—they fought well and gained ground and even managed to keep some of it. But even they succumbed to the butchery eventually, just like all the volunteers who had gone first. And then, as if all their deaths weren't bad enough, the government turned around and went for the babies: eighteen and nineteen. Children.

TK could still remember what it had been like, seeing their awkward faces on the news—some of them still had braces and acne—as they lined up, first for induction, then for transport, and finally for deployment. Everyone said the training would harden them. Bulk them up. Turn them into warriors. That's what boot camp was for. And while they came out looking different—anonymized in matching uniforms, armored all over with weapons, hair shorn off or tucked discreetly away—they still looked so very, very small.

And they went fast. The cannon fodder generation, people called them afterward, despite the fact that two years hardly constituted a generation. They went in and they never came out. They were bodies to be thrown at the problem, everyone knew that, and yet they hardly even seemed to make a dent. All they did was buy everyone else time. A few years, as if those years mattered in the scheme of things.

Now they're all back to beginning again, moving to the upper twenties. It felt wrong, to watch all the younger ones go first. It was only by necessity—or desperation, depending on who you asked—that they ended up drafting those older than twenty-five. There wasn't even supposed to be another draft; the whole point of the previous one was to create a pipeline long enough that it would never have to be done again.

But it was done again.

So many had already fled by then, but the announcement that they'd be extending the draft further than they ever had before sent people into a panic. If they could take twenty-six-year-olds now, who's to say they'd stop there? People began pouring over any border they could, be it natural or manmade. The suicide rate skyrocketed. Mexico started building a wall of their own, and even Canada added some saber-rattling to their border complaints. _We don't want any part of your war, not abroad and not at home_.

Neither Carlos nor TK ever thought of leaving. Looking back, neither of them quite knew why. There was nothing keeping them in Austin, or even in America, except sentiment. TK's mother had expatriated herself long ago, back when the war was still being fought with drones and the civilian deaths hardly made the news. Carlos' family had fled south years before, having sensed bad times were coming as if the warning had come down through the generations. _Move, move while you still can_. By the time TK's father died during the second invasion, it seemed like it was already too late to try to escape. They were stranded in place by their own inertia and fear. And by each other.

And so, when their year came up, TK and Carlos sat in their little house in south Austin and they watched the draft together, keeping the unopened bottle of whiskey on the table between them as a reminder and a good-luck charm.

They each thought about getting drunk, but privately dismissed the idea. TK had a neat stack of little colored coins reminding him how hard it was to crawl out of that particular grave, and Carlos, for his part, knew a hangover would only make the next day that much more unbearable.

So they sat there, stone sober, keeping to opposite sides of the couch, and they waited. It was a Sunday, which felt both fitting and cruel. Neither of them had had any work to distract them during the day; they'd been counting down the hours to this moment since before they woke up.

They played the national anthem first, as if it were a football game. From where he sat curled up in one corner of the couch, TK's hand itched for the remote, wanting to mute it, but he knew better than to bother. It would be over soon enough. He kept his eyes on the coffee table between the couch and the TV and he tried not to listen too closely.

Carlos didn't look away from the TV. He kept his eyes trained on it like he might a feral animal that had just wandered across his path. He sat upright on his side of the couch, his whole body taut and at attention. Looking like a soldier already. The only hint that there were anxious nerves beneath the surface was the way the thumb of one of his hands rubbed against the other, the skin gradually reddening until it chafed.

After a few brief statements extolling what an honor it was to be able to serve one's country and the importance of courage in the face of adversity, the machines were brought out to start the lottery. They were identical and transparent, like huge fishbowls, and filled with hundreds of opaque capsules. Three hundred and sixty-five in each, to be exact. One machine held the dates: a month-and-day combination squirreled away in each capsule. The other held just digits, one through three hundred and sixty-five, which would determine the priority of each birthday called.

Dual swords, hanging over the neck of every man and woman of eligible age.

The entire country, it seemed, held its breath while the man on TV drew the first number.

"February twelfth."

The man read the number loudly and clearly, and as he did so, the date appeared in the corner of the screen, along with a tally of how many citizens it applied to: 356,781. It seemed like so many people—surely more than enough people—but with all the deferments, exemptions, and draft dodgers, they'd only get a fraction of that. They had to keep going.

The man on screen moved to the second machine, taking the capsule that was offered. He twisted it open and read the small slip of paper within before showing it to the cameras.

"One hundred and twenty five."

TK and Carlos both relaxed a little at the precedence number. Not a bad pick. Middle of the road, or thereabouts. Far enough away that anyone who the date applied to could tell themselves that maybe the war would be over by the time they were scheduled to be called up. Everyone else, of course, knew better.

The next few numbers passed without incident. Neither TK nor Carlos knew anyone with that February birthday, or any of the five birthdays that came after it. But they both recognized the next date as it was called out.

"May sixth."

The world twisted, and suddenly everything was too loud and close and real. TK felt his heart pounding in his chest and though he tried to move, tried to reach over, he was frozen. Trapped by the hammer of his own heart, locking him in place.

"It doesn't mean anything," TK heard himself say, not even knowing where the words were coming from, or how he was saying them when he felt so completely out of time. "It's just the date. What matters is precedence. What matters is—"

"Shut up!" Carlos snapped, and TK blinked at the order, falling silent simply out of shock.

"I can't hear," he whispered a second later, and TK could tell from the tremor in his voice that he was sorry. And that he was scared. TK didn't think he'd ever seen Carlos truly scared before. He looked down at Carlos' hands, still clasped together but no longer fidgeting, and TK wondered briefly if he was praying. And then the number came.

"Three hundred and seven."

TK closed his eyes in relief while Carlos exhaled loudly and fell back against the couch.

"Jesus," Carlos sighed, his chest heaving with all the breaths he'd been holding in.

Reaching across the couch, TK took his hand and squeezed tight. Carlos took it and pulled him close, kissing him hard. TK could feel the fear transforming into relief as Carlos' mouth met his, his lips hot and joyous. But the kiss lasted only a moment, for they knew that was only half of it. They still had another date to listen for.

They both pulled away reluctantly, focusing once more on the announcer's voice as he moved on to the next number.

"June twenty-second."

It meant nothing to either of them, but they watched anway. They would sit here and hold the vigil for all the others until TK's number was called.

They settled back on the couch once again, closer together now than before. But as the minutes dragged by, and every birthday but TK's was called, he started having trouble sitting still. He took to pacing. He walked to the front door and then back. To the kitchen and then back. The door to their bedroom and then back. He couldn't actually leave the room for fear he'd miss his fate being announced on live television. Eventually it got late, and he collapsed back onto his side of the couch in a heap. It felt like hours had passed by the time he finally heard the words he'd been waiting for.

"September thirtieth."

TK had been lounging, his feet up on the table, but the second he heard his birthday, he sat up properly and leaned forward. He watched as the man moved over the second machine. It was late enough in the draft that there were only twenty precedence numbers left; they all fit neatly into a box on the left side of the screen. TK stared at that box, knowing people bet on it, bet on _this_ , and he wondered what his odds were. The number one was up there, but so was three hundred and sixty-five. So was seventy and one hundred and fifty-eight and two ninety-nine. There were twenty numbers waiting to be claimed and any one of them could be his.

His mind was still sorting through all the possibilities, so busy that at first he didn't understand what he heard. He thought of Carlos drawing three hundred and seven, such a big number, and his sounded so impossibly small. It sounded like a joke.

"One."

TK opened his mouth as if to protest, but the draft was already moving on.

"March fifteenth," the announcer continued.

The display on the screen shifted, moving right along to the next date. As if his didn't matter. As if his were nothing.

"One." TK said it out loud because he couldn't keep it in anymore. Trying it out at first, as if he'd never said it before. As if he wasn't sure what it meant.

" _One_." With disbelief now. Searing, seething, sneering disbelief. He'd never hated a number so much in his entire life.

_"ONE!"_

He was screaming it now, on his feet, roaring at the television. He could see Carlos in his periphery, scrambling for the remote, either to mute the TV or turn it off, but it didn't matter because suddenly TK had the bottle of whiskey in his hands and Carlos froze halfway to standing, watching him. Waiting.

TK didn't drink it. He didn't _want_ to drink it. He wanted to break it, wanted to break _everything_ , and so he turned the bottle in his hand, tossing it a little in the air to get a feel for it. He caught it easily. And then he pulled his arm back and threw the whiskey his father had left him straight at the TV.

It shattered in an explosion of alcohol and glass and warped plastic. Miraculously, the combination didn't start a fire, but TK found himself wishing it would. He wanted to burn everything to the ground, but especially this home he stood in. This home they had made together, him and Carlos, against all odds. And _why_?

What had been the point of it? The war had been going on longer than they'd both been alive. Why had they tried to live a life outside of it? Why had they bothered to find happiness when they knew it would be taken from them regardless? They were always going to end up here, listening to their numbers being called. They were always going to be separated.

Without even having to look over, TK could sense him. Carlos was approaching him slowly, no doubt expecting him to lash out again like an animal. Like a dying man.

TK shut his eyes, shaking his head as he wrapped his arms around himself. He didn't want Carlos here. He didn't want his sympathy or his comfort or anything else he might try to offer. TK just wanted to be alone.

No, not alone, he realized slowly, that wasn't what he wanted at all.

He opened his eyes, turning to look at the mess he'd made. All the broken glass and spilled alcohol. Why had he smashed it? It didn't matter that he couldn't drink anymore; that bottle was one of very few mementos he had left from his father. He'd never get another, and here he was, destroying what little he had left.

Suddenly TK felt like sobbing. He wrapped his arms tighter around himself, but it did nothing to help. He was falling apart already, had been for years, and he didn't bother to slow his own fall as he crashed back down onto the couch.

Carlos was by his side in a moment, kneeling down, one hand on TK's neck, another on his side. His hands were moving, moving, moving, like they were checking for injuries. TK just shook his head; it wasn't like that. He wasn't hurt in that way.

"I wish he were here," he whispered brokenly, and Carlos' hands stilled against him. "I need him _here_. He was the soldier, not me. He _chose_ it."

Strange to think back to a time when you could still choose. Strange to think that this country used to survive on an all-volunteer army. It felt like a fairy-tale. It felt like a lie you told to children to preserve their innocence a little longer.

"He always wanted it for me," TK whispered. "Before all this, he wanted me to follow in his footsteps, to shoulder the family legacy. And what did I do instead? Got a PR job in a fucking office. Furthest thing from a soldier I could think of." He laughed softly, not knowing where the mirth was coming from. "Bet he would say this doesn't even count, since I'm not joining up willingly. He'd make a face about it. Give a little lecture. Use words like _duty_ and _valor_ and _honor_." TK smiled at the memories, hoping they stood true against the test of time. It had only been a few years since his father had been killed, but he felt like he'd lived lifetimes since then. He looked up, finding Carlos' worried eyes close to his.

"I wish you'd known him better," he whispered. "I really wish you'd known him."

Carlos nodded. "Me too, Ty."

They'd only met a handful of times over the years. The first time, TK's father had gotten leave early, and stopped by unannounced to surprise his son—only to walk in on Carlos half-naked in TK's kitchen, and it wasn't the acceptable half that was bare. It had taken some time to bounce back from that humiliation, but they'd managed it, over a few dinners and lunches and rare holidays together at home. Things got harder as the war got worse, and then the war got so bad that it took TK's father and never gave him back.

And now here TK was, poised to follow after him. It was impossible to comprehend, and despite the fact that they'd heard it announced on TV, and they would get a summons in the mail tomorrow, it felt unreal. So unreal that Carlos started doing something he rarely ever did, which was speak irrationally.

"You can't go."

"What do you mean, I _can't_ go?" TK lifted his head, eyes still red but clear of tears now, filled only with confusion as he stared at Carlos. "I _have_ to go. It's not a choice anymore, Carlos, or haven't you been paying attention all these years?"

"I have, but—"

"And you're the one who's a _cop._ " He spat out the word like he never had before, like it was something foul, and Carlos' hands fell away. "I thought you, of all people, would understand the need to do your duty when called upon."

"Not like _this_."

"Not like what?" TK demanded. "How do you want it to be? Would you rather have a couple Marines show up at the door and drag me out? Because that's what will happen if I refuse to appear. I'm able-bodied and sound of mind; I'm obligated to go. And if I try to run, I'll get killed."

They'd done away with prison terms and fines years ago. Prison was heaven compared to a Russian battlefield, and everyone knew it. Once your number was called, you either died in your fatigues, or you died running from them.

Yet people still tried, despite the futility, and it had become a cottage industry in recent years. The only way you made more cash than a people-smuggler avoiding the feds was to become a bounty hunter working for them. The government paid good money to be able to make an example out of the runners.

"There's another option," Carlos insisted, his mind spinning out. "There _has_ to be another option for you."

TK felt his whole body go cold at the implication.

"What do you mean, _for me_?"

Carlos' eyes flashed back to him—briefly, but not so briefly that TK failed to catch the guilt there before he looked away.

"It never even crossed your mind that it would be me first, did it? All you could think about was you. And there was never any question in your mind about whether or not _you_ would go, was there? You'd serve and you'd do it well because that's what you _do_. There'd be no backing out for you. No running for you. No question about it. So why am I different?"

"Tyler—"

"You don't think I'm man enough for it, is that it?"

" _No_." Carlos shook his head resolutely. "No, that's not it at all. Come on—"

He tried to reach out for TK's hand, but he pulled away.

"Are you sure about that?" TK replied. His voice was quiet, but there was a dark anger powering his words. "Do you want to rethink your answer? Because you are not acting like someone who sees us as equals."

"Jesus, Tyler!" Carlos got to his feet. "I'm trying to protect you! What about that is offensive to you?"

"No, you're not," TK replied, rising to meet him. "You're not trying to protect me at all. You're pushing me aside. Trying to hide me away. Just because I don't carry a fucking gun to work, you're acting like—like—"

He faltered, but not for a loss of words. He was too furious to speak. And too scared to turn thoughts into words.

"Like what, Tyler?" Carlos was quiet, calm. They both knew the answer. And they both knew they had to have this fight now, in case they didn't get a chance later.

"You're acting like I'm the wife in the situation! Like this is 1940 and it's supposed to be you going off and leaving me here to tend to the homefront. Like that's the—the _script_ or something. You go, I stay. You die, I mourn." He shook his head, never taking his eyes off Carlos. "Well, guess what—that isn't how this works, okay? That's not what it's like between you and me."

"I know that."

"Do you?" TK challenged. "Because you sure don't act like it."

Carlos brought his hands up to cover his face, and held them there for what felt like a very long time. Finally he dropped them, and when he spoke, his voice was very quiet and very carefully controlled.

"Please, Tyler, tell me. What have I done to make you feel less than? Now's your chance—let go of your resentments. God knows we won't have another opportunity."

But TK just stared at the floor, slowly shaking his head. Silent seconds ticked by as they both refused to break first. TK wondered how many times this scene was being repeated around the country. The fighting, the yelling, the crying—

No, no, no, no. He was not going to stand here and fucking cry. He was not going to prove Carlos right. He turned away, making a beeline for the front door. He didn't have his phone or his keys or his wallet, but it didn't matter. All he knew was that he had to get out—had to get away, and be on his own.

"Where the hell are you going?" Carlos called furiously after him.

"For a walk," TK answered without looking back. He yanked open the door, startled briefly by the cold but unwilling to turn back around and get a jacket. "Don't wait up," he said before slamming the front door closed behind him.

The second he was outside he regretted being there, but he knew there was no going back—at least not right now—so he kept moving. As Carlos yelled after him, TK jogged quickly down the steps, reaching the end of the front walk in a matter of seconds. He didn't think; he just turned right. He walked swiftly and he kept his eyes forward, refusing to look back. He didn't want to see Carlos watching him go—or worse, not see him.

It was pure silence outside. Not a single car moved on their street or any adjoining one, and each house he passed was as shuttered and mournful as the one he'd left. Despite the fact that the world had been like this nearly all his life, sometimes TK couldn't quite believe all this was real. It was something out of a novel, or a history lesson. An entire nation bent and broken beneath the weight of conflicts that didn't matter to their everyday lives. Fights that were so far away they might seem pointless, if only they didn't take away so many sons and daughters.

TK hunched his shoulders as the wind changed direction, pissed anew at himself for not wearing something warmer. He picked up the pace, wishing he could break out into a run instead. That kind of exhaustion would do him good. But he was in jeans and a t-shirt, wearing boots that clicked against the sidewalk when he walked, and he knew running wasn't an option. So instead he walked on.

He walked west for an hour or two until he hit MoPac Boulevard, and then he turned south and walked a few more miles in that direction. He wandered so far and for so long that he didn't know why he was walking anymore, except that every moment he refused to go home felt like some kind of triumph. A petty triumph, but perhaps those were all he had now.

Eventually, he ended up back on their street. His aching feet, or maybe it was his exhausted heart, had led him home. The house was still and silent when he finally returned to it, though he could see a light on in the front room. He sighed, wondering why he had expected any less. Of course Carlos would still be up. TK was lucky he hadn't rounded up a few of his fellow officers to hunt him down.

Putting off the inevitable for a minute more, he stood at the edge of the front walk and stared up at the house, taking in the little one-story building he'd been calling home for the last five years. The simple brickwork, the screened-in porch, the peeling shutters, and the little garden that they, admittedly, let grow wild rather than bother to tend. He could still remember the day he'd moved in all those years ago. How happy he'd been. And how naïve.

Summoning what little courage he had left, TK forced his feet forward, and up the walk. He didn't bother knocking when he reached the door; he knew it would be unlocked.

"Hey!" Carlos leapt up from the couch when TK walked in. "Where the hell have you been? You scared the shit out of me, you know that? You can't just go walking off into the night, I thought you were—"

But TK didn't stop to listen; instead he kept his head down and made a beeline towards the back of the house. He strode through their bedroom and into the adjoining bathroom, slamming each door shut behind him. If they'd had a lock on the bathroom door, he would've turned it; he could hear Carlos' pounding footsteps behind him. Instead he moved to the shower, turning it on full blast as he stripped out of his shirt and yanked off his boots. He had three seconds of privacy before the door burst open with so much force it slammed into the opposite wall.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Carlos yelled. "You've been gone for _hours_ , Tyler, I thought—"

"I don't care what you thought," TK muttered as he kicked off his jeans. "And will you please save your bitching for later? I'd like ten minutes by myself to shower."

"You just had five hours to yourself," Carlos snapped. "You can explain that to me first."

"What's there to explain, officer?" TK shouted, throwing out his arms. "I'm about to get shipped to my death. I'm not going to apologize for wanting to process that on my own."

"There's processing something and there's running away."

"Running away?" TK scoffed as he shoved his underwear off. "I came back, didn't I?"

"Did you?" Carlos crossed his arms. "I'm having trouble recognizing you."

"You know what?" TK lifted his chin. "Fuck you."

He turned his back, and stepped into the steaming shower, yanking the curtain closed behind him. The water was blazing hot, but he didn't care. Couldn't _allow_ himself to care. He knew Carlos was still standing out there, and he refused to backtrack on a single action in front of him. So instead he just stood underneath the burning spray and tried to believe it could wash him clean.

For the briefest moment, it worked. The water fell over him hot and fast, and with his eyes shut, TK could imagine his skin scalding, cracking open and sloughing off the old in order to christen the new. It felt magical. Miraculous.

And then he heard the curtain shift and felt a draft of cool air rush in. His eyes snapped open to see Carlos stepping naked into the shower in front of him, reaching a hand out to lower the temperature of the spray as he moved into it.

It took every ounce of control TK had left not to scream at the top of his lungs.

"I asked for ten minutes." He was so furious his voice was shaking. " _Ten_. That's all I asked for from you. This is already the worst night of my life. Can you please not make it any worse by—"

"I'm not here to make it worse," Carlos interrupted softly, and TK blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the odd turn their fight had taken. It was too early for reconciliation. He didn't _want_ reconciliation. He wanted to yell a little longer and slam some more doors and go to bed angry—maybe even sleep on the couch—but then Carlos stepped towards him, lifting a hand to cup the side of TK's face, and all at once he understood what was happening. Carlos wasn't here to talk through things like usual.

TK jerked back so violently he nearly fell.

"Jesus, you're out of your mind! Get the fuck out of here," he snarled, pointing at the door. "I mean it. I don't want you—"

"Yes, you do."

There was no smugness in Carlos' voice, just a simple statement of everlasting fact. TK stood and stared at him, momentarily speechless. He wasn't wrong, and TK hated him for it. Hated this person he knew he loved, and hated what he, TK, was letting happen to them. He waited, but Carlos didn't say another word. He just put his back to TK and braced his palms against the wall of the shower and he offered.

TK swallowed hard, his mind trapped in a swirl of fear and fury and deepening desperation. It was a trick, the dirtiest fucking trick, but even so TK couldn't resist falling for it. He knew they weren’t supposed to write off fights like this. It wasn’t healthy, it wasn’t right, it wasn’t _them_.

But what did any of that matter now? The old rules of living didn’t apply anymore.

Without even having decided to, he was already stepping closer. His body warmed as he moved back under the spray of the shower. He smoothed one shaking hand against Carlo's right hip. As he did so, he was suddenly very aware of just how many days they would have left together. How many hours.

Tomorrow, the official summons would arrive in the mail, listing his induction site. By the end of the week, if he was cleared to serve—which he would be—he would be packed onto a transport train and shuttled to the nearest military base for a few months of basic training before being shipped to the other side of the world.

In a week he'd be gone for good.

A _week_.

Carlos' hand rose to cover his, drawing it forward and down the center of his body. TK swore under his breath when he felt the smoothness of Carlos' half-hard cock against his fingertips. Suddenly out of breath, he dropped his forehead down onto Carlos' shoulder and inhaled deep. He could feel himself hardening too, despite everything.

"What I said before…" TK ground his teeth together, struggling for the right words. For any words. "It wasn't about this."

"Of course it was about this," Carlos replied. His hand was firm, guiding TK's quickly beneath the spray of the water. "So get it out of your system. We have one week left, and I am not going to let you give me the silent treatment about _this_ , of all fucking things." His free hand reached behind, grasping TK's ass and hauling him closer. TK reacted on instinct, grinding himself against Carlos, desperate for friction. "You know it doesn't matter to me, Tyler, but apparently it matters a hell of a lot to you. So if this is what you need to feel like a man before you leave, then go ahead and take it."

TK groaned into Carlos' neck, squeezing his eyes shut.

 _It doesn't matter to me, either_. TK knew that was what he was supposed to say. That was the right thing to say. Every part of him wanted to be able to say it, but he couldn't make himself lie, not anymore.

It _did_ matter to him. He didn't know why. He was an enlightened person; he knew better than to judge someone for what they did in the comfort of their own bedroom, especially not when they wholeheartedly enjoyed it. And yet, some stigmas refused to fade. Some burrowed deep in him and carved out a home. They made themselves so comfortable that he didn't notice them most days, not until they were shoved in his face like this.

"Come on, baby." Carlos tilted his head back, pressing kisses to TK's temple, to his wet hair. "You can feel I want it. I can feel _you_ want it." When TK didn't move, Carlos' mouth moved down to whisper in his ear. "You want me to beg for you, hm? I'll do it. I _need_ you. I want you inside me. _Please_." He lifted his hand off his own cock and slipped it between their bodies. "Or how about this… You want me to open myself up for you? I know how you like to watch."

TK drove his forehead harder into Carlos' shoulder, closing his teeth around what bit of muscled flesh he could reach, for it was the only thing he could think to do to stop himself from screaming. Carlos flinched at the pain, sucking in a sharp breath, but didn't complain. His breathing was coming in fast now, turning into pants amidst the steam of the shower as he readied himself. TK pressed himself closer, grinding his cock against Carlos' ass until he couldn't move forward any further and was trapped between the wall of the shower in front of him and TK behind him.

"Been a while since we've done this, hm?" Carlos whispered roughly, his whole body rocking now as he worked himself. "I'm gonna be so tight for you, baby. It's gonna feel so good, I promise you. And you're so hard already, so big, I can—"

"Stop talking," TK growled. He pushed two fingers into Carlos' mouth, unable to think of another way to silence him. "I can't stand you talking right now."

Carlos' lips closed around his fingers eagerly, sucking hard as if there were a purpose or a prize at stake. Using his free hand, TK shoved Carlos' aside so he could test him himself. Carlos moaned at the intrusion as TK slid two fingers inside his ass and TK grinned in the knowledge that it wasn't because he was being stretched too far, it was simply because it was TK who was touching him. He added a third, just to hear what noise Carlos would make next. He didn't disappoint.

TK teased him a little longer, but he knew he was walking a fine line. They were both far too close, far too high-strung, and so when he finally withdrew his fingers, he didn't hesitate before taking his cock in hand and pushing deep inside.

"Oh, _fuck_ ," Carlos choked out, TK's fingers slipping out of his mouth as his knees nearly buckled beneath him. "Fucking Christ, you feel so—so—"

"Hey." TK pinched his side. "What did I say about talking?"

For once Carlos listened to him, and clamped his mouth shut. He bent his forehead to the shower tile and braced himself with one hand while the other reached back, sliding into TK's wet hair, pulling on it in encouragement. The only sounds Carlos made were grunts of impact and pleasure as TK fucked him hard and fast, towards and then beyond orgasm. TK was heedless in his quest—first to make Carlos come, and then himself. It was a miracle neither of them slipped and fell during the frenzy.

The second it was over, it was all washed away. TK collapsed against Carlos' back, not bothering to hold himself up because he knew Carlos could support him. They stood there panting, still joined, until finally TK's muscles remembered how to work and he pulled out. Carlos stood, his head still bowed against the wall of the shower, and stayed just long enough to catch his breath before leaving.

TK stood alone under the spray afterward, motionless. Thoughtless. If time was passing, he wasn't aware of it. Even after the hot water started running cold, he still didn't move. He stood there and shivered until finally he managed to shut off the water. He stepped out and got a towel and he dried himself off on his way to the bedroom. He didn't bother with pajamas. He crawled into bed damp and naked, curling up on his side as he drew the covers close.

Carlos didn't say anything beside him, didn't move save for breathing, but even with his own back turned, TK could sense he was awake. He waited, but Carlos didn't speak. Didn't reach out to touch him. Even though he secretly wished for it, TK knew it was for the best. He couldn't get used to life continuing on like it always had. He had one week to break ties. One week to get used to sleeping alone, living alone, _being_ alone.

He held out as long as he could.

And then, sometime late in the night after his self-restraint had run out, TK rolled over. Carlos was waiting there, lying on his side facing him, his eyes open despite his obvious exhaustion. TK stared at him and he knew there were a hundred things he was supposed to say. But all that came out was, "You know I love you, don't you?"

"I do know that," Carlos replied softly. "And I love you too. In case you forgot."

"Didn't forget," TK whispered stubbornly. "I…" He shook his head, feeling his throat close up. "I was just so angry before," he forced out. "At the world, at this country, and… and at you too. I hated you for being called so late. I fucking _hated_ you. And I know it's not your fault, and I'm sorry, but I just… I couldn't be around you."

"It's okay." Carlos found his hand underneath the blankets and squeezed. "I'm sure I would've reacted the same way if…" He trailed off, letting the thought die there. They both knew he wouldn't have reacted so angrily, or so recklessly. There was a reason he was a cop: he liked order, and responsibility, and control. If he'd been picked first, he would've borne it stoically. He wouldn't have gone running off into the night without his phone or keys or wallet.

"All I mean to say," Carlos began anew, "is that I get it. And about before… I'm sorry too, for reacting the way I did. It was just—panic. Instinct. I know that doesn't make it fair, but it is what it is." He shifted closer, cupping TK's face in both his hands. "I know you can take being a soldier, Tyler. I know you have it in you. I just don't want you to _have_ to do it. Yes, I want to protect you, but just the same as you'd want to protect me."

"Neither of us can protect the other from anything, Carlos. I think it's time we owned up to that."

Disappointment broke across his face, and TK ducked his head so he wouldn't have to see it. They didn't speak for the rest of the night.

At some point TK must've fallen asleep, because eventually the sun woke him. He blinked at the light streaming in, and listened to the soft sounds of birds outside. It was as calm and peaceful as ever—until he remembered.

He shut his eyes, forcing the thoughts away, but the truth couldn't be deterred so easily. Furious, helpless, he kicked off the sheets and got to his feet. Carlos was still asleep beside him, naked from the waist up, and TK felt his whole body seize as he looked at him.

 _One week_.

After he threw on some clothes, he made a beeline for the front door, ignoring the kitchen. His stomach protested—he had barely eaten since breakfast yesterday, he'd been so stressed—but he didn't heed it. He did his best to ignore looking at the destroyed TV on the wall as he passed through the living room, but it drew his eye like a magnet. He felt his stomach fill with shame as he noticed that all the spilled liquor and shattered glass had already been cleaned up.

He stepped out onto the front porch, and one cursory look around showed that he was alone. No one else in his neighborhood had drawn the short stick, it seemed, except him. So he sat and he waited and after an hour or two, just as the day was heating up around him, the mail truck finally trundled into view. TK watched the mailman, a fifty-something black man, go from house to house with his packages and letters until finally he turned up their walk.

TK rose to his feet as the man approached, suddenly dizzy as he straightened up. Too much sun, too little food. Too many frayed nerves. His arm stretched out of its own accord, and the mailman handed over the familiar envelope. But he didn't let go right away.

TK looked up, confused for a moment. Against his better judgement, he could feel the possibility of salvation rising in him already. Maybe there really had been some big mistake. Maybe the summons wasn't meant for him at all. Maybe—

But that sad, sober look in the older man's eyes told him everything he needed to know. When the man let go of the envelope and offered his hand to shake, TK matched his firm grip.

"Thank you for your service, son," the man said quietly. "I know it isn't by choice, but that doesn't mean we don't appreciate what you're doing."

TK nodded, unable to speak. He wondered how many times the man would say those words today. How many times he'd had to say them over the years.

He held the envelope in both hands as the man walked away. He rubbed his thumb over the seal in the top-left corner. _Selective Service System._ He'd never liked the name, even before this week. Not that his opinion mattered.

He ran his index finger carefully under the flap on the back, opening it by degrees. He scanned the paper enough only to gather the information needed: his details, his place of induction, and his window to appear. Then he crushed the letter in his fist and tossed it out with the rest of the garbage.

His last week as a citizen passed in a daze.

TK struggled to complete even the most basic of tasks, so he was grateful that he and Carlos had planned for this eventuality ahead of time. There weren't any last-minute appointments that had to be made before he left. His will had been sorted out the previous year, along with Carlos', and the two of them had both worked hard not to leave any outstanding debts behind. Neither had wanted to be a burden on the other once they were called up, just in case they never came back.

When it was his time, TK had Carlos drive him to the induction site. He didn't trust himself behind the wheel, and once they arrived, he was grateful there were rules against family or friends joining the line. He didn't want the pressure of Carlos waiting with him, hoping he'd be exempted for some reason. It was easiest to just give in.

The line moved more quickly than he'd expected, though TK didn't know why he assumed it would take all day. After all these years, it made sense they'd have everything down to an efficient science. He was in and out in under two hours, and that was, the doctor apologized, only because they were understaffed that day. TK nodded along, unable to muster up even the blandest of smalltalk. He coughed when asked, and took deep breaths, and he let them take measurement after measurement. When asked if he had any health issues they should be aware of, he mentioned alcoholism only because he was supposed to, not because it would get him out of anything. The doctor hardly batted an eye at it anyway, and TK wondered what kind of wild stories this man had heard over the years, each teller doing their utmost to escape the inevitable.

There would be no escaping for him, and the doctor's parting words only solidified that fact.

"Well, Mr. Strand, barring any unforeseen circumstances that might occur in the next week, you are cleared for active duty."

"I… Just like that?" TK asked, hesitating.

He felt like he should receive some kind of certificate or stamp. Something official. But the doctor simply nodded, tapping the screen of his tablet as he walked to the door.

"Just like that," the doctor echoed. And then he stuck his head out the door and called the name of the next inductee.

Once he was outside the building, TK stood on the sidewalk and blinked around in the too-bright sunlight. Instinctively, he reached in his pocket for his cell, but just as his fingers closed around it, he let it go. Carlos had told him to call when he was finished, but what was the point? So they could drive twenty minutes across town in silence, and then sit at home all day together and pretend things weren't falling apart around them?

He dreaded even the thought of it. He knew he should cherish the few days they had left together, but he didn't want to spend them angry and uncomfortable. So instead he took off walking. His feet hurt from the previous night, but it was a good kind of hurt. A deserved kind. By the time Carlos called an hour and a half later to ask him how much longer he'd be, TK was nearly home. He was sweaty and footsore, but he figured it was good practice for his new career. He'd lived far too comfortable a life thus far.

At TK's insistence, Carlos went back to work for the rest of the week. He had plenty of offers from his coworkers to cover all of his upcoming shifts, but TK told him not to bother. TK would be stuck at home until he shipped out—he was automatically furloughed given how early he'd been called up—and he knew he'd go insane if the two of them were cooped up at home all week. He didn't want to look back on this time later and regret any more fights. So he told Carlos to go to work and he stayed at home, and they focused on making the most of what time they had together in the mornings and evenings.

While Carlos was at work, TK spent the last few days doing odd jobs around the house. He hauled away the TV he'd shattered the night of the draft and installed a newer, nicer one. He replaced the broken blinds in the kitchen window that had been hanging off-kilter for six months. He fixed the bathtub faucet that always leaked. He repainted the peeling shutters that had been languishing for who knew how long. He even ended up weeding that mess of a garden out front, and went the extra mile and planted some seeds. Nothing fancy, just something to surprise Carlos with after he'd gone. He hoped the flowers turned out at least half as nice as they looked on the packages.

It took an eternity and it took no time at all for his last day as a civilian to come to an end. It felt like one minute he was waking up and the next he was sitting down to dinner.

Carlos made his favorite, chiles rellenos, and they both sat down to eat with forced smiles. Dinner passed very slowly and mostly in silence, for there wasn't anything either of them could think of to talk about apart from what was going to happen tomorrow. Neither of them mentioned it, but it hung in the air between them, and soured the food TK usually devoured. Knowing Carlos had spent all evening cooking, TK did his best to swallow a few mouthfuls, but even those were hard to get down and threatened to come back up. He settled for fiddling with his utensils. Carlos had the good sense to allow it for a quarter of an hour before finally breaking the silence.

"You should really eat more," he encouraged softly.

TK nodded, making a renewed effort to push the food around his plate. But he couldn't make himself take another bite, not even for appearance's sake.

"Do you want something else? I can make whatever you—"

"I don't want anything else," TK interrupted, dropping his knife and fork with a clatter before pushing his plate away. "But thank you for offering," he added a second later, trying to soften the blow. "And for making dinner in the first place. I know I probably don't say it as much as I should. So thank you."

Carlos' mouth shifted as if to smile, but he couldn't make it the whole way. "You're welcome," he whispered back.

It was physically painful, how nice they were trying to be to each other, hyper-aware that every memory made today would be the only ones they'd have to subsist on for months to come, if not forever. It was maddening, and all of a sudden TK couldn't handle one more second of it. He pushed back his chair.

"I think I need to go to bed." It was barely past 8 PM, but he couldn't think of anywhere else to hide. It wasn't like he could go off walking again. He glanced guiltily at the sink as he rose. "Do you mind…?"

"I got it," Carlos assured him. He nodded at the door. "Go on. I'll be there in a while."

He left the kitchen and didn't look back. He didn't want to put images in his head of Carlos eating alone at their table.

He hesitated in the bedroom once he'd closed the door behind him. He thought about showering, but he knew what he was feeling wasn't something that could be washed off so easily. So instead he changed into pajamas, brushed his teeth, and then climbed into bed as if it were a coffin.

For a while he lay there in the darkness, eyes closed, and listened to the sounds of Carlos in the next room. Washing the pots and pans, loading the dishwasher, wiping down the table, sweeping the floor. Usually those were TK's tasks; that's how they broke things up—Carlos cooked and TK cleaned. But from now on, he supposed Carlos would be doing everything by himself. For himself.

And what would TK be doing?

He rolled onto his stomach and pressed his face into his pillow so he wouldn't have to think about that. All he knew was that in just over twelve hours, he'd be on that train and gone. As for everything that came after… Well, none of it would be up to him, so why dwell? Why worry?

He wished he could take his own advice. His mind was so far gone in a spiral that by the time the door opened and Carlos walked in, TK was more grateful to see him than he'd ever been. He turned onto his side, watching as Carlos stripped out of his clothes and pulled on a shirt to sleep in. It was hard to imagine he wouldn't be doing this very thing tomorrow night. Or the night after that. TK tried, but he couldn't remember the last time he'd slept alone.

Carlos slid between the sheets carefully, as if he were scared of upsetting some kind of balance TK had created for himself. He propped himself up on his side and for a minute they lay still and looked at one another, each waiting for the other to make the first move.

"I'm sorry I didn't eat your dinner," TK said at last.

Carlos shook his head. "Don't apologize for that. It doesn't matter."

"You made it special."

"Yeah, well." Carlos shrugged. "Who cares, really?"

"I'm gonna care," TK muttered sourly. "When I'm eating MREs for every damn meal, I'm seriously gonna regret just letting all that food go to waste."

"I'll make it for you again," Carlos whispered. He reached a hand out and stroked TK's cheek. "When you come home."

TK shook his head, looking down. "You know I might not—"

" _When you come home_ ," Carlos repeated firmly, "I will make you whatever you want."

With a heavy sigh, TK looked up again. He shifted a little closer. They were only a couple inches apart now, and he forced his eyes to take in everything in front of him. Every curve and blemish of Carlos' skin. Every gradation of color in his eyes. TK brought one hand forward, and brushed his thumb slowly back and forth against Carlos' lower lip.

"What do you think?" he whispered finally. "Will it make it better or worse afterward?"

"I don't know." Carlos held his gaze. "But it's your call, Ty."

TK bit his lip, wishing he could calm the fear roiling in his stomach. He had no answer to his own question. He had no way of knowing which was the right path to take. He traced the curves of Carlos' mouth, unable to pull his hand away. He let the seconds pass by, waiting for some kind of clarity he knew would never come.

"Better, worse, I don't know. All I do know is… I want more memories of you. Is that okay?"

Beneath his fingertips, Carlos's mouth shifted into the smallest smile. "That's more than okay." He pressed a kiss to the pad of TK's thumb. "What kind of memories do you want?"

TK shook his head. He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to talk about it.

"I just want you," he whispered, and Carlos had the good sense to kiss him instead of asking another question.

The fingers that had been tracing Carlos' lips moved to cup the back of his neck, hauling him closer. TK moaned when he felt Carlos' tongue slip into his mouth, and he rolled onto his back, using his free hand to guide Carlos on top of him. He moved to kneel above him, staying bent at the waist so their mouths never parted. One of TK's hands slid up Carlos's back, beneath his shirt, and their kiss broke only so Carlos could pull the shirt over his head. He moved to duck back down, but TK held him at bay with one hand on his chest, another on his hip. TK pressed himself deeper into the mattress so he could take in the view.

"I hate when you do this," Carlos muttered, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling. "You know I'm not—"

"—a piece of meat, yeah, yeah, yeah." TK waved his complaints away. "But I need to make memories here. So hold still and let me get a good look at you."

"You've had years to get a good look at me."

"Yeah, and somehow all those years still haven't been enough," TK murmured.

His eyes were busy tracing over every muscled ridge of Carlos' abdomen, and so he missed the look of adoration that took over Carlos' face. TK smoothed one hand over the right side of Carlos' chest, smiling when he felt his nipple harden. Carlos' waist was suspended too high above TK for him to feel where else he might be hardening, but that didn't matter. He knew it wouldn't take them long. And he also knew they had all night to make things last. When his eyes finally made it up to Carlos's face, the tenderness in his gaze stopped TK's roaming hands in their tracks.

"What?" he whispered, aware once more of his heart as its rhythm shifted into high gear. He wondered if he'd done something wrong—wronger than usual. But then Carlos bent down and kissed him very softly and very slowly on the lips. He rested his forehead against TK's when he pulled back.

"I love you so much," Carlos whispered. "That's what."

"Love you too," TK murmured back, humming in satisfaction as he felt Carlos lower himself down a bit closer than before. He lifted his hips, seeking the friction of Carlos' erection against his own through their underwear. The groan Carlos gave off—and the fierce kiss that followed—told TK he'd hit his mark.

Their mouths met again, tongues sliding together, as their bodies searched for that perfect fit. Their hands were greedy, moving through hair and against skin and never finding a place to rest. With a particularly commanding kiss, TK rolled them both over, putting Carlos on his back. When Carlos broke their kiss for air, gasping, TK simply relocated his lips to Carlos' neck, leaving a trail of red stains across his brown skin. Carlos slid one hand up TK's back and squeezed his ass with the other, pulling him closer.

And then TK lifted his head from Carlos' neck, and started kissing a trail down his chest instead. Carlos threw his head back with a groan, reluctantly pulling one hand away from TK's body so he could reach for a pillow. He knew what TK was doing and he didn't want to miss a second of the show. Propped up by the pillow behind his back, he watched as TK first threw off his shirt and then bent down to relieve Carlos of his underwear.

"I'm gonna miss your mouth so damn much," Carlos whispered, just before TK ducked and took him in deep.

One of Carlos' hands closed in a fist, knuckles straining against skin, while the other reached down and held on tight to TK's hair. Despite the encouragement, TK took his time, tracing every inch of Carlos' cock with his lips and tongue, surfacing only when Carlos' hips got too impatient.

"Don't make me tie you down," TK warned.

Carlos grinned, breathless. "Maybe that's what I want," he murmured, watching intently as TK began kissing his way back up his stomach. "Maybe I just want to lay here and be at your mercy all night. Let you do whatever you want to me."

"Well, that can definitely be arranged."

TK leaned forward to kiss him on the mouth, wrapping his arms around Carlos' back and lifting him up into a sitting position as he did so. TK settled one knee on either side of Carlos' hips.

"But later, okay?" he whispered after he broke the kiss. "First I want to feel your hands all over me."

As TK sank down onto him, Carlos let off a low moan, overwhelmed by how perfectly they slid together. He ran his hands over TK's shoulders, down his back, and along his sides, sparking fires everywhere he touched. TK tried to follow his own advice and be patient, but it was impossible. He wanted so much, everything at once, and he didn't know how to stop himself. He picked up a fast rhythm, which got only faster when Carlos grabbed his ass and started chanting his name with every thrust. He decided there would be time later tonight to take things slow. For now he wanted this: the two of them wrapped around each other, running headlong into the abyss together.

TK came so forcefully his vision blurred and he lost all feeling save for the euphoria spreading through every nerve ending in his body. Carlos collapsed beneath him, dragging TK down on top of him until they eventually fell onto their sides on the mattress. It took a few minutes for TK's ears to stop ringing.

"What?" he mumbled, nuzzling his nose against Carlos'. He knew he'd been talking, but he hadn't caught a single word. Carlos smiled, and kissed his cheek.

"I said, I didn't think goodbye sex was supposed to be that hot."

TK snorted. "No need to flatter."

"Mm, always a need to flatter, especially if it's true," Carlos whispered, leaning forward to capture his mouth in a long, deep kiss. When he pulled away, TK looked even more intoxicated than before.

"Have I ever told you," TK murmured, touching his lips, "how much I love that tongue of yours?"

"Once or twice," Carlos allowed with a growing smile. "Why?" He propped himself up on one arm. "Is there something in particular you'd like me to do with it?"

TK grinned, rolling over so he was flat on his back. He stretched out, flexing his muscles like a cat before tucking his hands behind his head and settling in for a treat. His eyes trailed Carlos as he moved down the mattress and laid down on his stomach between TK's legs. The smiles didn't leave either of their faces for hours.

But eventually the oasis of joy they'd found ran dry. Eager kisses devolved into frantic ones, and roaming hands became grasping in their hopelessness. They never let each other go, but it became harder and harder to live in the moment and enjoy what time they had left together. Sometime during the night, it became impossible, for neither could think of anything except what was going to happen the next day. Carlos never again mentioned running, but TK could sense the thought there in his mind, fighting to be heard. He was kind enough to find another tact to disguise it.

"Who knows?" Carlos whispered hours later. "Maybe... Maybe I'll get called up sooner than we think."

TK shook his head, stroking a hand over his chest. He'd been tracing imaginary patterns over Carlos' skin for the better part of twenty minutes. "That's all we get to wish for, huh? That you get sent over there before I'm killed. Maybe we cross paths. I hear Russia's smaller than it looks on a map."

Carlos shut his eyes, pressing a kiss to TK's forehead, and both lapsed into silence for a time. Eventually one of them touched the other, kissed the other, and they fell back into the one escape route that was still open to them.

"It's not forever," TK whispered later, his mind still circling that same old drain as they lay on their backs and stared at the ceiling. "It's just two years."

"Just two years," Carlos repeated slowly, and TK could hear his own cynicism reflected in Carlos' voice. He loathed hearing it even as he felt it himself.

"I'll get leave," he pointed out quietly. "I'll be able to come home for a few weeks."

When Carlos turned his head to the side to look at him, TK mirrored him. They blinked at each other across the darkness, both trying to believe that a few weeks meant something. Who knew if TK would even live long enough to get leave. And even if he did, how traumatized would he be returning stateside, knowing he'd have to go back in a matter of days?

"What will that be like?" Carlos wondered softly. "When you're home on leave, what are we supposed to do?"

His face was a mask of seriousness trying to hide the fear and sorrow beneath. But then TK saw something. A flicker of it, somewhere in his eyes or the edge of his mouth—teasing. Happiness. TK felt a flood of affection so strong that it made his chest ache. More than anything, he loved Carlos for trying. If he hadn't lost so many tears already, he might've cried. But instead he smiled. He could try for happiness, too.

"I was thinking maybe we'd do some more of this," TK replied, drawing Carlos close for a kiss.

They made love slowly, gently, taking care to make the most of every touch and every kiss. When TK slid himself inside Carlos, it was with extreme gentleness. They knew without having to discuss that this would be the last time for the foreseeable future. They tried their hardest to draw it out as long as humanly possible.

TK woke early the next morning, already anxious from a set of dreams that disappeared the moment he opened his eyes. He lay in bed for a while, knowing he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, and watched the sun creep into the room. Watched Carlos sleep soundly beside him. Eventually he woke too, and they lay there in silence, holding each other. They only got up when the alarm told them it was time.

TK stared at the clothes in his dresser and wondered what on earth he was supposed to wear. He wouldn't need civilian clothes come the end of the day, and yet he couldn't pick a single thing to wear for his last hours. He knew it didn't matter—no one would be judging him by his choice of outfit—but the instinct to make a good first impression lingered regardless. Eventually Carlos had to walk over and pick a shirt for him.

"Why this one?" TK asked, taking the green button-down he offered.

Carlos shrugged. "It looks nice on you. Matches your eyes."

TK didn't need another reason to put it on. He knew no one else would notice or care, but Carlos would, and that was what mattered today.

Though they arrived at the train station early, the crowd had already beaten them there. The surrounding streets had been blocked off and the protesters were out in force, as usual, shouting the same slogans they'd been shouting for decades. TK ignored them, and shouldered his way past on his way to the station entrance. Carlos said nothing as he followed behind, but TK could feel Carlos' hand tightening around his. Solid and warm. Reliable. That was Carlos—always reliable.

There were hundreds of people milling about inside in quiet groups, every person trying to eek as much time out of their former lives as possible. The further they moved into the mass of draftees and their loved ones, the more the shouts faded out. It was quiet in here: conversations were kept low and private, sobs were tightly controlled, and any laughter that managed to spark quickly died.

TK looked around, trying to get a feel for his fellow draftees. They came in every color, every size, and he was struck by just how ordinary they all looked. Most had family with them—mothers, fathers, siblings, grandparents. A few were parents themselves, and he looked away as quickly as he could from the sight of little children clinging to their soon-to-be-departing mother or father. He and Carlos weren't the only ones without family by their side; there were plenty of couples paired off together, lost in their own little worlds. Worst of all were those who had clearly come alone. They stood all by themselves at the edges of the room, no family or friends nearby to speak of, and they either stared at their shoes or out at the rest of the crowd as they waited for the call.

Carlos and TK found a small space for themselves somewhere in the middle and stood there, waiting with all the rest. Carlos stared at TK and TK stared back, waiting for those final words, but they never came. He reached for anger in the face of it all, but found it had fled him. TK didn't even have the words for this himself—how could he expect Carlos to?

Instead of trying, TK opened his arms and stepped forward. Carlos moved instinctually into his embrace, and when his arms wrapped around TK's back they were strong and firm and just a bit too tight. TK pressed a kiss to his neck, and hugged him harder. They didn't need any words. They'd said all of it last night already. All they needed was to spend these last few minutes holding each other, and to let that be enough once it was over.

When the alarm bell went off, it jolted everyone in the crowd. TK felt Carlos' grip on him strengthen, and he winced but didn't make a move. The automated voice on the PA system told them that all draftees were now officially allowed to line up for transport. Though most stayed put, a handful of men and women slipped through the crowd, wending their way around couples and families and up towards the checkpoints set up by the doors that led out to the tracks. The shouts from the protestors rose up once more through the walls—clearly they'd wrestled their megaphones back—but it was Carlos' soft voice in his ear that caught TK's attention.

"I know we only have a few minutes here, but… I need to say something before you go."

"Okay."

TK let his grip on Carlos' back loosen until finally they fell apart. He stood, waiting, but Carlos hesitated, chewing on his lower lip. TK felt a flurry of fear as he watched him—Carlos couldn't be breaking up with him, could he? Ten minutes before he was leaving for transport? No. No, he wasn't that cruel. Couldn't be. But still, why else would he be—

TK started in surprise when Carlos reached out for one of his hands. The dread was rising in him, stronger and darker than anything he'd ever experienced. Being notified about his father's death, hearing his own number come up so early—somehow all of it paled in comparison to Carlos leaving him, because this was the one tragedy he'd never let himself think about.

He'd always assumed his father would die over there.

And he always assumed he would one day be made to follow in his footsteps.

But Carlos was supposed to be the one good thing despite all of that. He was supposed to be the thing that kept TK going, kept him thinking of the future, kept him happy when he was surrounded by so much misery. And now here he was—

Here Carlos was, holding something small and golden in between his fingers. In between the two of them.

TK knew what it was, but his brain would not let him think the word. His heart couldn't comprehend such a reality. Not now. Not here.

"It was my grandfather's wedding ring," Carlos whispered. Suddenly, despite all the noise around them, his voice was the only thing in TK's world. "My parents gave it to me before they left. They knew… They knew I wouldn't go with them. That I'd stay with you. It was their way of giving their blessing, and… and I want you to have it."

Carlos swallowed hard, looking down at the ring because he couldn't quite manage to look TK in the eye without crying.

"I, um, I was going to ask you properly before all this…" Carlos dragged his teeth against his lower lip. "I kept planning it, over and over again. I wanted it to do it right. I wanted it to mean something real, something _true_. I didn't want it to be like this. I didn't want…" He shook his head, trying to hold himself in check, but his eyes spilled over anway. "I didn't want to be _desperate_ about it," he choked out. "Because you deserve better than that. More than that."

"Carlos…" TK tried, but he couldn't utter another word.

"I wanted it to be normal," Carlos continued in a hoarse whisper. His red-rimmed eyes found TK's. "Because marrying you is _normal_ for me, okay? It's what I've been thinking about for years now. I—I don't know why I kept putting off asking. I guess I was scared you'd say no. I was scared to change things. Mostly I… I was scared to get married without my family there, or yours. I didn't want us to be alone on the day that was supposed to mean so much, but… Now everything's changing anyway and—and if I don't see you again, I want you to have it. I want you to know that this is what I wanted for us."

He pushed his hands forward, offering up the ring. TK stared down at it, too overwhelmed to act. He couldn't even think straight, let alone make his muscles move. Seconds passed. Fear crept across Carlos' face as he waited.

"O—Or if you don't want it, it's okay," he stammered. "I know this is, um, the worst possible time. And I—oh, God. I'm so sorry. This was a terrible idea. I don't know what I'm doing. I didn't mean to pressure you—"

"You're not," TK cut in, finally finding his voice. "I would've said yes either way. You have to know that. Even if I were staying by your side, even if it were peacetime… I'd have said yes in a heartbeat, Carlos. Actually—" He smiled, shifting closer. "—I'm saying yes right now. So give me that ring."

"You—really?" Carlos stared at him in disbelief, too bewildered to move. "Are you sure? Because you don't have to say yes just because—"

"The ring," TK interrupted holding out his left hand. "I'm not gonna wait all day."

A grin burst across Carlos' face, and he hurried to slide the ring on TK's finger.

"It fits," he whispered.

Carlos laughed softly. "We've been together for six years, and you think I don't know your ring size?"

"I don't know yours. What does that say about me?"

"You have other priorities," Carlos excused.

TK looked down at their hands, feeling his eyes burn. "Have you really thought about this for years?" he asked in a whisper.

"Yeah. Ever since my parents left. I… I wanted us to be our own family. You and me."

"We are," TK insisted, fighting to speak against the guilt swirling in his stomach. "We are, but I just… I wish I had a ring to give you too."

"It's okay," Carlos soothed.

"It's not." TK shook his head, feeling the tears come loose. He didn't dare let go of Carlos' hands to reach up and wipe them away. He knew they only had a minute or two left, and he couldn't waste a single second not touching Carlos. "It's not okay. I want you to have a reminder of me, too." TK forced his head up, and tried for a smile. "Plus, I don't want you messing around behind my back while I'm off being a hero."

Carlos grinned. "I promise I won't step out on you, but if it makes you feel better…" He reached into his pocket and fished out a pen. "Here." He passed it to TK and then offered his left hand. "Draw it on."

TK stared down at Carlos' hand and knew that if he hadn't already been so torn apart, this would've broken him. Was this all they had? Was this the only way they could show devotion: a kindergartener's scrawl on a grown man's hand?

"It'll fade," was all TK could manage to say. His voice cracked even on those two little words.

"That's okay," Carlos whispered back. His voice was rougher now; TK knew he was struggling to keep it together too. "I'll redraw it every day, and I'll remember you while I do it." He forced a weak smile. "You'll keep that ring looking nice, won't you? Remember me when you clean it."

"I will. I promise."

TK did his best to try to steady his hand, but he knew it was impossible. For all the care and feeling he put into it, the clean circle he'd meant to draw around Carlos' finger turned out wobbly and awkward. But it was there and for now, that was all that mattered.

There was nothing left to say, and so they didn't bother with words. They had spent the previous evening pouring _I love you_ s into every touch, every kiss, every breath. And they didn't need vows or _I do_ s to seal what they'd just done, nor paperwork to legitimize what they were to each other. So instead they did what hundreds of others around them were doing: they kissed goodbye.

The crowd surged and contracted around them as families came together or let their loved one go, each goodbye overlapping with another. They were sharing this moment with hundreds of others—and the thousands who had come before them and would inevitably come after—and yet that didn't make it any more ordinary or any less painful.

TK kissed Carlos harder, wishing they had one more day, one more hour—one more chance to be as close as possible before they disappeared from each others' lives. But there was no more time. As he held onto Carlos, TK became aware of the crowd shifting away from them. More and more men and women were beginning to leave their loved ones behind to make that final trudge alone. TK squeezed his eyes shut, tightening his arms around Carlos, as if that might somehow slow down time. He pressed his face into Carlos' neck and breathed in deep, trying to memorize the scent of him. He held on as long as he could, until finally he had to go.

When he started to pull away, Carlos reacted instantly, hands fighting to keep him close.

"You can't go. Please, Tyler, you can't go."

"I have to."

TK said the words as if they'd been written for him. He didn't feel them, he didn't believe them, but he knew he had to say them. He knew that if he didn't leave now, he never would. And the last thing he wanted was for someone to have to pull him away. He put his hands on either side of Carlos' face, forcing him back so they could look one another in the eye. He wiped the tears from Carlos' cheeks, knowing identical ones were falling down his own.

"Look at me. Listen to me, okay? I love you. That's never going to change, no matter what happens over there. I'm always going to love you. But I have to go and I have to go now." When he tried to smile, he could taste the salt from his tears on his own lips. "You be safe while I'm gone, okay? Don't go taking any risks."

"I'm supposed to be the one telling you that," Carlos whispered back. "You're the one going into a warzone."

"Not for a few months yet."

The station alarm went off then, interrupting them with its mechanized blaring. There was no accompanying announcement this time, because no one needed one anymore. Everyone knew what that signal meant: time's up.

TK wasn't going to go kicking and screaming. He wasn't going to put up a fight. He was going to hold his head up and walk onto that train of his own accord. He was going to make Carlos proud, even if it broke his heart first.

With some difficulty, TK finally managed to separate them. He took one step back, and then another. He held onto Carlos' hands as long as he could, and then let go. Everything in him wanted one last goodbye, but he knew if he kissed Carlos again, he wouldn't be able to stop, so instead he turned away and started walking.

The line had already begun forming, and it wasn't hard to find the end. He took his place, and soon another stepped in behind him, and then another. They shuffled forward silently, each waging their own private battle, blind to all others. All too soon, TK made it to the front, where a uniformed soldier flaked by a couple of guards was waiting to check him in.

"Last name, first name, fingerprint here," the officer instructed without looking up from his tablet.

"Strand, Tyler Kennedy."

He pressed his thumb where indicated. It took the officer barely a second to compare his face against the photo on record.

"Car twelve," he instructed, and TK nodded, heading out after the others.

He expected the platform to be busy, but it was deserted save for a handful of guards posted and the draftees filing into their assigned cars. Nobody waited here. Nobody shouted or cried or waved goodbye. They just stepped on, and let the train take them forward.

Even though TK knew he wouldn't be able to pick Carlos out of the crowd, especially not at this distance, he still looked back before he stepped further onto the platform. He stared into the sea of people, all straining for one last look. One last chance. He touched the ring on his finger, closing his eyes for the briefest second before finally turning away and heading towards the twelfth car.

He knew there was no point in searching for a good seat once he got on; they were all exactly the same and the ride wouldn't be long. This track, like so many thousands of others across the country, had been built specifically to ferry soldiers to and from nearby bases. His eyes swept across the car as he made his way to the few open seats at the back. He took in every face he saw, not sure if he was looking for those he knew or just trying to remember each as he passed by. These were his people now, and he felt the need to look them in the eye.

He took a seat next to a woman who was wearing a black headscarf and staring out the window. She didn't look over as TK sat down in the aisle seat beside her, and he didn't bother to say hello. It was deathly silent in the car, and he knew better than to go against the grain today of all days. He watched as person after person walked down the aisle until finally their car was full. He wondered how many people from this car would be dead in a year. He wondered how many, if any of them, would make it home after their two years were up.

As the train started to move, the fingers of TK's right hand gravitated towards his left, and he began twisting his ring around his finger. He'd always been a fidgeter, and he found himself wondering as he sat there how he'd gone so long without a ring to worry. It was second nature already.

"Worried about leaving your wife behind, huh?"

TK looked up at the question, surprised to see the man sitting across the aisle watching him intently. He was white, and wore his blonde hair slicked back. He looked relaxed and had a smile on his face as if this were an everyday commuter train. Without thinking, TK started to nod in answer to his question. He knew it was better not to argue or make a spectacle of himself here, especially not at a time like this. Conforming was the whole point of the military, after all. But he couldn't lie. Who knew how many days he had left on this earth? He wasn't going to spend them lying, no matter what the consequences of the truth were in this new world of his.

"Husband, actually," he corrected, louder than he meant to. Several people sitting ahead of them glanced back. "But yes, I am worried about leaving him behind."

It took the man a moment to register what he was saying. "Husband," he repeated slowly, with a soft scoff, as if he were having trouble imagining it. The friendly smile had disappeared from his face. "Well. Guess they'll take anybody they can get now, won't they?"

"Yeah," TK replied coldly, holding the man's gaze. "I guess they really will."

Something in the man's face tightened, but before he could say or do anything else, an unfamiliar hand settled on TK's left forearm, and he looked over to see his seatmate's manicured nails resting against his skin. When he looked up into her face, he saw that not only did the red polish on her nails expertly match her lipstick, the rest of her face was perfectly made up. TK didn't need a mirror to know he looked like shit, and here she was, looking like a supermodel. Her eyes weren't even watery. He wondered stupidly if she'd actually volunteered for this.

"They're the safe ones," she said softly. "It's us you should worry about."

TK stared at her and he thought about lying again. But she had given him honesty, and he felt he owed it back.

"It's easier for me to worry about him."

"I know," she nodded. "But if you don't worry about yourself, you won't last out there. None of us will." She tilted her head. "And you can last for him, right?"

"I can try," TK allowed dubiously. "But at the end of the day, it's not really up to me."

"Of course it's up to you," she argued. "Every day of the next two years is up to you. And if you make it through, you'll still have the rest of your life ahead of you. You can't forget that." She squeezed his arm once more before letting go and turning back to the window. "All any of us needs to do right now is survive one day at a time," she whispered.

TK leaned back against his headrest. "One day at a time," he echoed, closing his eyes.

Nothing had ever sounded so difficult.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. This one took a ton of work, and I’m still not 100% confident in how some parts ended up, so I would love to hear your thoughts. :)


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